


Breaking Point

by dragonwriter24cmf



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Character Development, Character Study, Emotional Baggage, Gen, POV Elim Garak, Spoilers, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:01:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21894058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonwriter24cmf/pseuds/dragonwriter24cmf
Summary: Garak didn't want to interrogate Odo, and he certainly didn't want to torture him. Still, Tain had given his his orders. He was only doing what he had to, for both of them to survive. Right? Garak's thoughts during the interrogation scenes in 'The Die is Cast'
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	Breaking Point

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Characters belong to Star Trek, not me.

**Breaking Point**

He didn't really want to interrogate Odo. If he were suffering from a rare moment of self-honesty, he would have admitted it. He didn't want to interrogate the shapeshifter. Odo had always been fairly decent to him, in a gruff sort of way. And the man had protected him, after his shop exploded. He hadn't betrayed him, or bargained Garak's life with his own, even in the rather dire circumstances they were in.

He'd felt a bit of a sting, abandoning Odo to Tain and Lovak when they'd been brought aboard. He settled his doubts with the reminder that Tain was rather paranoid, his companions even more so. Being Tain's friend was the only thing keeping both of them from the wrong end of a phaser. Odo might be in jail, uncomfortable, and angry, but at least both of them were alive. A regrettable, but necessary sacrifice. And if he was in Tain's good graces (as much so as possible) then he had a better chance of finding ways to keep Odo safe and get him out alive, not to mention himself.

The interrogation was another matter entirely. He told himself he had to do it, to earn Tain's trust. It was necessary, for both their sakes. But the truth was, it was more for his sake than Odo's, because he wanted Tain's approval. And no matter how he told himself that it was better Odo endure at his hands than any other, that didn't change the fact of it. Interrogations were a matter of deliberate cruelty, and, for all his skill at them, all his reputation, he didn't want to inflict it on Odo.

It was hard to say why he didn't want to interrogate the other man. Perhaps it was because he owed Odo a debt. The man had taken him under his wing, sort of. He suspected it was the combined efforts of Sisko and Odo that kept the station Bajorans from causing him too much trouble. His own status as an exile probably helped, but Bajorans could be as vengeful as anyone else, and he had expected more trouble than he'd actually had to deal with.

Perhaps it was because they were, in a way, friends. Not the way he was friends with Bashir, a casual, relaxed and stimulating friendship involving heated debates, and a rather wide education into human values, customs and such. Nor was it like his friendship with Quark, a quiet, competitive rivalry. They were both shopkeepers, after all, even if they worked in completely different crafts, and neither Ferengi or Cardassians liked being bested, in profits or otherwise. Quark usually won, but there were the rare days when he had a good sale, a good run of customers, or Quark had a run of bad luck. His friendships with O'Brien and Sisko, and other inhabitants were mostly of the practical, professional kind, but satisfying in their way.

His friendship with Odo, if it could even be called that, wasn't nearly so easy to define. It wasn't as if the shapeshifter was any kinder to him than anyone else. He'd never really fallen afoul of the law, at least not on DS9, so Odo had never bothered him. The constable considered him another person to be looked after, the way he saw everyone else. He knew the way Odo thought. If they were on the station , they were in Odo's care, as far as the shapeshifter was concerned, and never mind Starfleet security or regulations. He bent a little, when it came to the command deck, but the Promenade was his territory, which made Garak his responsibility. Perhaps it could best be said that they respected each other, didn't dislike each other, and had some mutual points of interest and experience.

As he brought Tain's 'anti-shifting' device into the room, and saw Odo's eyes, he thought there was another reason. Odo's respect. He didn't want to lose it. The Constable had high standards, to earn his regard, and seeing the disappointment, the betrayal, on his face was...disturbing. He wondered why. He'd seen, and caused, that expression on so many other faces. He wondered why it mattered with Odo.

He hadn't expected the device to do anything, really. Oh, it might make Odo slightly uncomfortable. Perhaps mess with his mind, his consciousness a little. But it wasn't until the field was switched on, and he actually _saw_ Odo try and fail to shift shape that he realized it did indeed work. And that he didn't know what was going to happen, and neither did Odo. He knew Odo had to shift into a liquid to regenerate, and he hoped it was like sleeping or eating for a Cardassian or a human. Something that had to be done sometimes, but could be put off for a while with minimal dire effects. He rather hoped he could hold Odo for some hours, with no greater result than an irritated shape-shifter, then report back that the effects were less than ideal and hadn't yielded any information.

Unfortunately, the time spent waiting gave him more time to think of why he didn't want to be doing it at all.

It wasn't that he thought Odo didn't know anything. He knew there was something Odo hadn't said, hadn't told anyone. His instinct for secrets was second to none, and hadn't waned at all in his years of exile and making suits. Besides, he knew Odo. The man was loyal to a fault, and rather brutally honest, but he didn't say any more than he felt he absolutely had to. He didn't know that Odo had ever really told a lie, but he was certain the Constable often withheld information. No, it wasn't that he thought the endeavor was pointless.

There was the obvious reason, of course. The reason Tain had known for his reluctance. He and Odo were very much alike. Outcasts. Exiles. Cast away from their people. That Odo had given his up more voluntarily than he had didn't change that. And they were both private men. They didn't like discussing themselves. But that....it wasn't the whole reason.

He'd really always gotten his joy out of ferreting out dirty secrets. Bringing people to pay for the wrongs they'd committed. Forcing people to admit to their own sins, their own weaknesses. Those hidden vices and dark corners of the soul. And that, perhaps, was the problem with Odo.

Odo didn't really seem to _have_ those dark corners. He was a bit like Bashir in that regard. It wasn't that he was an innocent, not in a million light-years. Working as part of the Bajoran Occupation, particularly after being raised on Bajor, took away innocence. Never mind working as a security officer for any government, even one as relatively gentle as the Federation. And even if his job hadn't changed his perspective, the man had been caught in the middle of a very nasty war. War destroyed simplicity, innocence, naivete, all those things, even if you were on the outskirts. When you were caught right in the middle, between your own people and the people you'd lived with, worked with, become friends with....well, it was enough to send one mad. And not only was he in the middle, he dealt with being in the middle every single day. He was right on the front line, as it were. No, Odo wasn't an innocent.

Perhaps it was that he was...incorruptible. Darkness swirled around him, tempted him, teased him...but he never really seemed to be touched by it. True, the tides of fate and war and duty had altered his perspective, but the madness of war never clung to him. The slow destruction of spirit that took over so many in security, or in prolonged battle, didn't seem to catch him. He was a cynical, forthright man, and a downright bastard if he had to be, but he wasn't...jaded. Compromised. His people had failed to seduce him away from his duty. Time and circumstances added new information for him to work with, but never changed his spirit, nor his integrity. There were few who could have withstood the strain of such things. It wasn't that the Changeling had no weaknesses, but he didn't try to hide them, or hide behind them. He acknowledged them, dealt with them, and if he couldn't alter them, he didn't make secrets of them either.

And there it was. He didn't want to interrogate Odo. Debts and friendships aside, Odo wasn't the kind of corrupted person he usually dealt with, liked dealing with. Not a villain or corrupt politician, or even a blundering or overbearing and ambitious military officer. And, if he had to be perfectly honest, Odo was the type of man he could have been, had he not been what he was. And, in the darkest corners of his mind, he could admit, sometimes, that Odo was what he might have preferred to have been, given another chance to choose. The thought was immediately squashed, but he was too experienced in spying and information not to be aware of it.

Time ticked by. Mentally he measured time, counting to when he thought Odo needed to rejuvenate, then giving himself an extra hour. Odo didn't speak to him. He'd tried to tell him that there was nothing to say, but as he hadn't believed it, the shape-shifter had lapsed into silence. The time ticked by, and he found himself paying more and more attention to Odo. Waiting for the tell-tale signs that something was wrong, that Odo's will was weakening.

If he hadn't been watching so closely, he would have missed the tightening of the shape-shifters frame, the way he drew in on himself, hunching inward. He might have missed the first shudder, the way Odo suddenly twisted his face away. After all, Odo was almost completely silent. But he saw it, and it was enough. Enough to make him realize an uncomfortable, if not completely horrible truth. The anti-shifting device was working. And the need to return to liquid form wasn't as simple as eating or sleeping. In short, he wasn't going to simply make Odo uncomfortable for the interrogation.

He was going to torture him. Odo had made a sarcastic remark about it before, but it was no joke now. However severe Odo's discomfort was, it was going to rise. And if the interrogation went on very much longer, it wasn't going to be _simply_ an interrogation. It was going to be a torture session. And _he_ would be Odo's torturer. However far Odo's suffering got before he broke down, it was _his_ face that Odo was going to connect to this torment. And he had no idea, even, what the device was doing to his prisoner.

He tried to head it off. “You know, we could simply dispense with this. All you have to do is tell me what I want to know.”

Odo only shook his head. “How many times do I have to say it, Garak? There's nothing for me to tell.”

He wanted to believe it. He really did. But he'd gone this far, and his instincts weren't telling him anything different now. And he couldn't back down. Tain could read him rather well, and he was fairly certain the other man would know if he just bowed out. So he only shook his head and settled back in his chair, watching. “Time will tell, I suppose.”

Time ticked by, and by the end of the first hour, he'd gone from uncomfortable with what was happening to alarmed. It started with a slight...dryness, around Odo's face and hands. Then he noticed the uniform didn't look quite right. It was less Bajoran Security colors, and more of a brown. Rather like the color Odo's skin was turning. Then Odo planted himself against the wall, leaning into it as if he was trying to merge with it. And he heard the soft sound the shape-shifter made, and recognized it for one of pain.

By then end of the second hour, he'd gone from alarmed to horrified. There wasn't much that could actually horrify a Cardassian, much less one used to the kinds of things he'd learned as an interrogator. Still, there was no other word he could use for the feeling that welled up inside him.

Odo was disintegrating. There was no other word for it. He was falling apart. His uniform, parts of it anyway, had gone the color of his skin. Little pieces were flaking off and falling to the floor. And he didn't need the soft sounds of pain from the corner to tell him that Odo was suffering. That Odo was in pain. He couldn't even imagine what kind of pain the Changeling was enduring. He'd had burns once or twice, severe enough to cost him a few layers of skin. He doubted the experience was even remotely comparable to this. To have your body falling apart, your whole body. To watch your flesh dry up and flake away, and be unable to stop it, unable to find release in unconsciousness, even.

By the end of the third hour, he'd gone from horrified to...he didn't know what to call it. Desperate, perhaps. He only knew that nothing, not in his training, not his experience, not his own mental conditioning, had prepared him for this horror, or for the shame and sorrow it caused.

Odo's body was falling apart. He was shaking like a leaf, which only made it worse. Every move, every twitch seemed to exacerbate the man's condition, to add a new level of agony to his torture. Pieces of him were littered on the floor. From head to foot, his body was dessicated, and little pieces were detaching from him. He was groaning in pain, his face and body pressed against the wall, a poor refuge, and no help against his suffering. In fact, it had to be worse, rubbing little pieces off him. But he was too weak to pull away, and even if he hadn't been, Odo was too proud to fall.

Even the most hardened of Cardassians would likely have given in by that point. Either that, or passed out and been unable to rouse. Or died of shock. But though he'd tried, time and again, to draw Odo out, the shape-shifter wouldn't yield. He kept insisting he had nothing to tell.

For the first time in his life, he really wanted to end it. He didn't want to see this. Didn't want to be party to it. For the first time, he really, truly, to the core of his soul, just wanted it to stop. Whether it was debt, respect, honor, he didn't know and didn't care. He couldn't...he didn't want to see Odo like this. He didn't want to be the man torturing him, forcing him to endure such an excruciating ordeal. In point of fact, he didn't want to see Odo tortured like this by anyone.

He tried, again, to break the silence, to get the Constable to speak to him. “Odo...just...tell me.”

Odo made a rough sound. It was so agonized, and the man's throat so dried up, he couldn't even tell what kind of noise it was supposed to be. A snort of derision. A cry of pain. A snarl of defiance. It could have been any one of those three. And then Odo spoke, his voice so rough and rasping it hurt to hear. He'd heard ships being destroyed that sounded less disastrous, and to hear that sound coming from a living being's throat, shaping words...there wasn't any way to describe it that could do it justice. “Here you are again, interrogating a prisoner. It must...fill you...with such pride.”

His own throat ached, hearing Odo force those words out. He recognized the tactic Odo was using, trying to distract him by turning the subject back to him. Trying to distract himself, by forcing conversation. Nearly every prisoner he'd ever dealt with did the same thing, at one point or another. Some were more subtle about it, but then, Odo wasn't a very subtle person.

Normally, he didn't answer. Just sat there. If he did answer, it was to turn the subject around, back to the person he was questioning. But...he couldn't manage it. Not in the face of such raw strength of character. Such reckless courage. Not with the way his own throat felt tight, his stomach knotting in a way he hadn't experienced since his exile. The words forced their way out of his mouth, and for once in his life, his own voice wasn't quite steady. “Odo...just...talk to me. Tell me what I need to know, and this can end.” He wasn't the praying type, generally, but right then, he was considering making an exception.

Odo made that sound again, a half-scream, half-laugh, and so hoarse it made tearing steel sound like a lullaby. “Oh, but you...don't want...it to end...do you, Garak.” The way Odo said his name was like a curse, and it took a conscious effort not to flinch from it. “After all...isn't this...what you've dreamed of? Back at work...serving Cardassia. You must be so...proud.” The last word was spat too, but it didn't disguise the agony, or the hurt in that voice. Not just the pain of torture, but the shattering of betrayal.

It felt like a slap across the face, a punch to the gut. In a way, he'd have preferred either of them. At least, with physical provocation, one knew how to respond. But this...watching this man that even the most hardened of Cardassians would have admired, however reluctantly, trying to break this man he had respected, liked, even called his friend...

He wasn't proud of it. In fact, he felt a little sick. He hardly noticed how hard he was clutching the table, the pressure turning his fingers numb. He wished, with all his heart, that Odo could have had one shred of...dishonesty, corruptibility, something, to make this easier. But there was nothing. Only an honorable man, and one he was trying to torture to the breaking point. And he wasn't proud, or amused. Even the usual thrill of the challenge paled in comparison to the sinking in his gut.

He almost wished he could say so. But those weren't Cardassian words, and to have spoken them, particularly in this kind of setting, would have been beyond ludicrous. He doubted Odo would believe him, in any case. Besides...for all that he wasn't proud of what he was doing, the shape-shifter was right about one thing. He _had_ been dreaming of this. Of serving Cardassia, of going back to his old job.

He had to say something. “Yes. And you have information, information I need, information it's my duty to extract from you.” The words came out sounding almost like a plea. In other circumstances, he'd have been mortified. But he couldn't muster his usual, sneer, or even a typical Cardassian calm, any more than he could stop the next words. “It's not...personal.”

He wondered if Odo understood the significance of that statement, and suspected he did. When conducting an interrogation, there was almost always a personal element. It was a battle of sorts, a competition to see who was stronger, smarter, better. Odo played the game with Quark all the time, though by now it really _was_ more of a game than anything. But he was also an investigator, and a damned good one. He was passionate about his work, and finding answers to problems, or to mysteries.

This interrogation...it wasn't personal. He didn't want to defeat Odo, at least, not at this cost. He needed the answer, needed to prove himself to Tain, but...it wasn't about Odo, or discovering what Odo had hidden. This wasn't a challenge, not one he relished, at least. It was a travesty, and an ugly, unbearable, agonizing one at that.

Then Odo screamed, an honest scream of pure agony, ripped from a throat already shredded to pieces, and collapsed, sliding down the wall to huddle in the corner.

“Odo!” He was hardly aware that he'd all but shouted the other man's name as his own tenuous control broke. “Talk to me!” That _was_ a plea, but he didn't have any time or energy to think about it.

He couldn't sit still even. He was out of his chair without conscious thought, bending over the tortured man sitting in the corner, his own heart racing. And, suddenly, he simply couldn't do this anymore. He just...couldn't. Couldn't watch Odo suffer, couldn't bring himself to torture the man any further. Not for this. Not for duty, or even for his dream of returning to Cardassia. “Talk to me! Tell me...anything!”

He leaned forward. He could barely believe the words coming out of his mouth, but he didn't care, didn't make any effort to stop them, because they were honest, and he really couldn't prevent them, even if he had wanted to. “Tell me! Lie, if you have to, just say something. Anything.”

The words hung between them, and he knew he'd lost this battle of wills, but he didn't care. Then Odo spoke. “I want...to go home.”

He thought it was a request, an agonized man begging for a guarantee. Most prisoners bargained, right at the breaking point. It gave him hope. Not just a bargaining chip, but one he might even be reasonably able to fulfill. “You will go home, you will! I promise you, when this is all over, I'll take you home to Deep Space Nine!” He was still nearly shouting, but the levels of emotion packed into that small corner were unbearable. Hell, he'd seen war fronts less charged.

Then Odo gave a savage jerk of his head, the movement nearly lost in the trembling that wracked him, but clearly a negative gesture. “No...not the station! I want...to go home. Home...to my people.” Even in that shredded, broken voice, there was shame, and rage, and perhaps even...love.

Shock froze him. “I thought you'd turned your back on them.” It was common knowledge all over the station. Odo had freely chosen to return to the station with Sisko, Kira and the others. He had, in fact, rescued them from the Founders, during the first contact they'd made.

“I...tried! I tried to...turn my back on them! I tried...to forget!” He suddenly wished it was mere physical agony in that voice. The emotional pain that tore through the man before him was far, far worse. “But I can't! They're still...my people. And I still...want to be...with them...in the Great...Link!”

Two things hit him at once. First, the realization that Odo's wish was much like his own, and second...a sense of triumph. This was it. He was a master at his job, and every instinct he had was screaming at him, that this was it. This was the secret Odo had sworn he didn't have, the secret he'd never revealed.

Exultation breathed through him, the triumph of a challenge won, though only minutes ago he'd have thought he was incapable of feeling any such thing. “I knew there was something you'd never told anyone. Something you didn't even tell Sisko.”

Odo's head jerked around, and he saw the flash of hurt betrayal, a thousand times deeper than anything he'd seen previously. As if he'd poured salt on a wound. And in a way, he had. Triumph fled, guilt and horror slashing through him as Odo snarled at him. “And now you've found it...I hope it's...useful.”

The words struck like a knife, like a phaser at close range, overwhelming him. Shock, horror, pain, the emotions swamped him as he realized what he had done. The man he had tortured, broken, and why.

There weren't any words to say, but as he whirled and launched himself at the anti-shifting device, he thought he'd never moved so fast. He all but slammed his hand down on the device, disabling it, shutting off the field.

He heard a groan, pain and relief intermixed, and the sound of liquid moving, as Odo returned to his native form, and fell, or slopped himself into the bucket. At least, he hoped the Constable had made it to the bucket. He deserved to preserve at least that much dignity. But he couldn't look. He couldn't turn around, couldn't face him. Even if Odo no longer had a face, eyes to glare at him. Even if he no longer had to see the emotions written on the agonized countenance, it didn't matter. He couldn't face him. Not with the understanding of what he'd done.

Odo had been right. There had been nothing he could tell them of the Founders. His only secret, the only thing he'd kept from Starfleet, from his friends, was the knowledge that he missed his people. His only secret was that he felt the pain of being an outcast.

He had tortured Odo, all but broken him, and it was all only to find that Odo felt the exact same way he did. That Odo, for all his courage, greater than Garak's own, was alone and knew it.

He fell into the chair, overwhelmed with shame, something that hadn't happened in years. Not since Bashir had treated him for substance abuse, when he'd nearly killed himself with his longing for home. But even that shame paled in comparison to what he felt now.

He found himself hoping, praying, that Odo would remember how he'd begged for him to speak, how he'd even told him to lie, to end the torture. For once in his life, he'd broken before the subject had. It was bitterly, terribly ironic that his own breaking point had forced Odo's, that he'd gained the secret only after he'd been willing to give it up. But he hoped, desperately, that Odo would remember, would know. It wouldn't help much, he understood that, and he knew the odds of Odo ever forgiving him were nearly zero, but he really, truly, hoped that Odo would remember it.

*****BP*****

Several hours later, he found himself waking up on board a runabout, with the Constable who'd saved his life trying to take off and pilot the damn thing, in the middle of a battle. Looking death in the face, and realizing that the man beside him was the only reason he was _still_ alive, however long it lasted, made it impossible not to see it. He had watched Odo turn down the Founders yet again, this time with full knowledge of what it had cost him. And Odo had just saved his life as well. He figured the punch in the face was well-earned. 

It was impossible not to apologize. Odo didn't say 'I forgive you', but perhaps 'I understand' was good enough.

A few days later, he stood in his shop and watched as the Constable walked away, trying to recover from his astonishment at the breakfast invitation he'd just received. Of all the things he'd expected from the man, it wasn't this. He'd kept the conversation out of his report, as much to preserve his own skin as Odo's privacy and dignity. He'd promised Odo he'd try to forget it, a thing they'd both agreed to. But this breakfast idea...

It wasn't just 'forget'. It was 'forget' and 'forgive'.

And he knew...Odo remembered  _ his _ breaking point too.


End file.
